


i've always been a coward (and i don't know what's good for me)

by femdykes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Endgame Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Medium length burn, enemies to tentative coworkers to lovers, okay more like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femdykes/pseuds/femdykes
Summary: “We were actually close when we were younger. She used to be so kind. Almost like a big sister,” Mary Margaret’s tone softens.“Yea, she seems like a real nice lady,” Emma scoffs.“You didn’t know her then. She was… I don’t know, different.”Emma doesn’t know if she believes her. She knows women like Regina; rich, entitled,cruel. At least Cora has the decency to pay Emma whenshe'sall of those things. Emma grips her pen hard when she remembers the glint in Regina’s eyes as her composure melted into the kind of rage most people reserve for bar brawls.They’d better start prepping David for debates soon.OREmma is the assistant campaign manager for David Nolan's mayoral bid. Regina is the competition. What if they... like... fell in love...
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	i've always been a coward (and i don't know what's good for me)

**Author's Note:**

> main & chapter title from hounds of love by kate bush
> 
> all of this is inspired by me never getting over the s1 Mayor Mills Personality and i've already reading every political au. note: emma is not henry's birth mother in this fic because it just didn't fit into the plot cleanly
> 
> chapters will get longer from here

“Yes. I do think she’ll work,” Cora says finally, with a sharp nod. David beams, punching Emma’s shoulder lightly in a hopelessly sincere movement. “Welcome to the team.”

Little can be said, ethically, about Cora Mills. She’s maybe a four on the moral scale at her absolute best. But she knows how to sniff out talent.

Emma is certainly talented. Talented, and just desperate enough to not ask too many questions. And that’s how Emma Swan, former juvenile delinquent, gets into politics.

_ She’ll work indeed. _

* * *

The first week of David’s campaign passes uneventfully. Working under Cora isn’t half bad, mostly-- Emma’s job seems to be taking notes and standing menacingly in the background to scare off Cora’s enemies. They work in close quarters, everyone crammed into a single story, beige-walled building with one windowless office set apart from the bullpen. 

“I prefer working  _ with _ a team,” David says when he sets up a space next to the other workers instead of moving into the office. His wife, Mary Margaret, slips into the seat next to his and Emma starts to believe they really buy into this whole equality thing.

Cora ends up taking it.

The worst part of Emma’s job is the daily trips to shake hands with donors who appreciate David’s dedication to  _ the underprivileged _ . It always goes: 

“Emma!” Cora will call from her office, voice cloying and saccharine in a way that only ever means she has company. Emma will shuffle in, tight limbed and leaning against the doorway--  _ aren’t orphans just adorably rough around the edges _ \-- and leave at the first chance she gets. Maybe throw in a few words about how David is the father she never had.

It makes her teeth ache like cyanide sugar cubes.

“You’re so buying me a drink for whatever this is,” Emma groans, passing David’s desk for the third time today as she picks her way through the scattering of desks that litter their main room. He just raises his eyebrows sympathetically. Traitor. 

Cora’s office is everyone’s least favorite place to be. It’s uncomfortably warm and slightly humid at all times, and the heat makes the leather of her guest chairs cling to Emma’s skin; it’s all too perfectly Cora to feel safe.

The woman standing at Cora’s desk doesn’t bother turning to greet Emma, and Emma bristles at her indifference. She’s dark, and cold, and cuts sharply through the white of Cora’s office in a blood red dress that’s just on the edge of ostentatiously expensive. Her posture screams  _ money _ ; Emma immediately dislikes her. 

_ But, god, are women even allowed to look like that? _ she thinks as her eyes catch on the faint scar across the woman’s upper lip.

“Regina, I’d like you to meet Emma Swan. My personal assistant and protege.” 

“I’m sure Miss Swan can find  _ something _ else to do with her time,” the woman--  _ Regina _ \-- says. Emma can practically taste the cigarettes in her voice. 

Her chin lifts in practiced disdain as her eyes bounce to Emma’s for a second, before striking back to Cora. One leg crosses delicately behind the other as she spreads her hands onto the desk, commanding, pushing into Cora’s space. “You and I need to talk.”

“I’m sorry, who exactly are you?” Emma asks.

Regina stiffens at the challenge, and Emma can see the moment when the woman decides to scorch the earth instead of simply burning down a few trees in her tight smile. It seems restraint is not her strong suit, after all. Emma crosses her arms across her chest in prideful preparation for the attack she sees coming, but when Regina speaks, she still doesn’t address Emma directly. The dismissal affects Emma more than she’d like to admit.

“Interesting choice, Mother,” Regina takes short, precise steps towards her. Emma wonders if someone had to teach her to walk like that.

“I’m not sure _ I  _ would have hired her, but I guess they’re much easier to manipulate when they come with the mommy issues pre-installed, huh?” She stops inches from Emma’s face, side-steps her effortlessly, and marches through the still open door. “I’d start applying for new jobs early, Miss Swan. You’ll need it.” 

Emma stumbles, face burning and grasping at responses weakly but it’s too late. 

“Don’t call me when you’re done with your tantrum,” Cora calls after her, seemingly unbothered while Emma suppresses the urge to pick a fight with Regina in the parking lot. 

Regina may have been swinging blind, but she hit. Hard. And now Emma wants to hit back. 

A sharp crash shocks Emma back into action, and she’s quick enough to the door to see the Regina storm out of the building, leaving an upturned pile of books in her wake. “What the  _ hell  _ was that?” Emma says, still glancing between Cora and the scene in the bullpen as if Regina might come back to knock over a couple chairs. 

“Our competition.” She sits back in her chair. “And, of course, my daughter.”

Emma has Mary Margaret slipping into step beside her before she’s two steps into the main room, her hands twisting nervously as she guides Emma back to her desk. Emma notices Ruby, a friendly, dark haired volunteer bent over the books to their right. 

“You have to understand,” Mary Margaret pauses, inexplicably flustered, “Cora’s been grooming Regina to follow her path in politics since she was born.  _ Before _ she was born. David and I were, well, we were shocked when she offered to manage his campaign-- everybody kinda assumed they’d be a team. 

“We were actually close when we were younger. She used to be so kind. Almost like a big sister,” Mary Margaret’s tone softens.

“Yea, she seems like a real nice lady,” Emma scoffs.

“You didn’t know her then. She was… I don’t know, different.”

Emma doesn’t know if she believes her. She knows women like Regina; rich, entitled,  _ cruel _ . At least Cora has the decency to pay Emma when  _ she’s _ all of those things. Emma grips her pen hard when she remembers the glint in Regina’s eyes as her composure melted into the kind of rage most people reserve for bar brawls. 

They’d better start prepping David for debates soon.

* * *

  
  


The next time she sees Regina, she knows what to expect. Emma’s been sent into enemy territory for the night, a faceless member of the crowd as Regina formally announces her candidacy. It comes fresh on the heels of a successful photo-op; Regina, bathed in sunlight, reading to a group of children on a perfect sunday morning, practically glowing. 

Cora had David scheduled for a similar photo within the hour.

And now, days later, Regina is standing in front of a sizable crowd, looking both confident and approachable. Emma is still reconciling Regina _ , huge bitch _ , with  _ Regina _ , someone who you could actually vote for. It’s… deeply unsettling. 

“Some of you may know,” Regina smiles brightly, “how much I love this town. How  _ important  _ it is to me. I believe in a Storybrooke that rises beyond our founder’s wildest…” 

The speech is standard. Political. Nothing short of excellent, of course, but Emma’s getting the sense that everything Regina does is. So instead of listening, Emma studies her, trying to find the weaknesses David needs. 

She notices the smallest judgemental uptick of Regina’s brow as a stuttering reporter fumbles his way through a question, and the smooth, patronizing answer that follows. How Regina’s smile breaks a little too wide to be genuine. There it is-- weakness.  _ She doesn’t even like people.  _

Emma’s good at reading people; Regina is hard to read. It feels poetic, somehow. 

A small frame knocks into her unexpectedly, throwing Emma’s focus from assessing her target. The big brown eyes of a young boy look up at her apologetically, a quick, excited  _ sorry  _ in his mouth before she can even process the hit. A second later, he’s jumping and craning his neck towards the stage, trying to get a better look from his short angle, and really, she can’t help but forgive such a cute kid.

“Wanna trade spots, kid?” Emma laughs. 

“Really?” he’s looking up at her again, smiling way too much for a child at a politician’s rally. She nods. “Thanks! I’m Henry.”

“I guess I know who you’re voting for, Henry,” Emma says, switching spots with the still-bouncing boy.

“I’m ten. I’m not old enough to vote,” he lifts his chin proudly as he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Emma’s an idiot for missing it. There’s something familiar about him that she likes, something about the way his eyes shine with untempered innocence. Even if he is kind of a little shit.

“It was a joke! Jeez,” Emma smiles. He rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage instead of answering. He’s well dressed and fearless in a way street kids don’t have the luxury of being (and Emma would know) but seems to be running loose on the streets of Storybrooke completely alone. 

Regina’s speech comes to a close minutes later and as the crowd disperses Emma scans it for a flash of dark hair or a similar nose. Anyone who might be vaguely responsible and in charge of the kid. 

If asked later, Emma would say that what came next was completely incomprehensible.

She sees Regina climb down from the stage with entirely too much dignity, scanning the crowd for her team. She sees her visibly soften for a second when her eyes land on Henry, before turning very,  _ very _ pale with recognition. She even sees the dark worry click into Regina’s eyes. None of this prepares her.

“Henry?” Regina calls, her normally deep voice high and reedy. “What are you doing here?  _ How _ are you here?” 

Regina’s heels click frantically across the town square, pushing through the still dissipating throng with barely concealed fear. She’s already pulling out her phone and wrapping a protective arm around a very guilty looking Henry when she finally, finally notices Emma. “Miss Swan. What business, exactly, do you have with my son?”

_ Son _ . 

_ Oh shit. _

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [ femdykes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/femdykes) on tumblr :) 
> 
> feedback welcome and appreciated!


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